The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 208

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**
**Chapter 208**

**Aysel’s POV**

The clock had long passed the hour of one, its hands creeping forward as if reluctant to move.

Since we had shared our meal, I found myself anchored in this room, unable to step outside the cocoon of our recent intimacy. Magnus… he was like a tempest, determined to reclaim every lost moment, to make amends for the time that had stretched between us like an insurmountable chasm. The shadows of the night twisted everything into a disarray that felt suffocating. The bath, the window ledge, the sofa, the dressing table… each piece of furniture seemed to mock me with memories I couldn’t bear to confront. Even the large bed, damp and rumpled, felt like a daunting reminder of the vulnerability I had exposed.

Even the most lavish feast, when consumed in excess, leaves behind a sense of heaviness. My heart pulsed—not from hunger, but from a deeper, more tumultuous emotion. Tears streamed down my cheeks, unbidden and raw.

I whimpered softly, nudging him, pushing against him, even delivering a gentle kick, a playful protest against the overwhelming tide of feelings. But as soon as I lifted my leg, I froze. Magnus… his presence enveloped me, fierce and unrestrained, radiating a primal energy akin to a wolf ready to pounce.

He let out a low chuckle, a sound that resonated deep within me, and pressed closer, nuzzling my shoulder, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin where my teeth had left marks from trembling lips.

“Be still, little one. Open yourself to me,” he murmured, his voice a deep, rumbling echo that sent delightful shivers cascading down my spine, igniting a warmth that spread through me.

The following evening, I awoke, groggy and disoriented, my senses still tingling with remnants of the previous night. As my gaze swept the room, I realized I was in the guest chamber. Right. Magnus had moved me during the early hours; the main den had provided no sanctuary for rest.

A shiver ran through me as I recalled his appearance then—wild, untamed, and indulgently arrogant. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and his eyes sparkled with a predatory gleam, teasing me with that dangerous grin that sent my heart racing. He was more than just my culinary wolf-servant… he had the potential to be so much more. The thought made my cheeks flush with warmth even now, a lingering ember of desire.

At one point, I had clung to him, facing him directly. Each step he took felt like an intoxicating weight, his wolfish power pressing into me, making me acutely aware of my own vulnerability. I could still feel the scratch along his shoulder, a reminder of my frantic clawing as I lost myself in the moment.

I grasped the arm that had held me captive, feeling the strength of iron, and sat upright, inspecting the carpet that led to the bed.

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